


the simple art of capture

by pure_as_the_driven_snow



Category: Super Smash Brothers
Genre: Gen, not at all a shipping fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-01
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2019-07-05 08:12:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15859713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pure_as_the_driven_snow/pseuds/pure_as_the_driven_snow
Summary: He is never caught as he hides within the trees and sees the human pups return with his burrow-mates riding on arm and head and shoulders, sees the dull tame-glaze in their eyes as they coo and nuzzle their human pups like kin.Mine, mine, say his burrow-mates, turned strangers with the way they talk. Fear and sorrow static through his fur, but he does not run to them, or challenge the human pups, because he knows better. He knows that he cannot win against the ones that come in, or the ones that return.So he runs from his forest and his land. And he hides, fights when he needs to. He keeps the memories of his kin in his mind and his heart and aches for his burrow back where his home once was, the sun warmed rocks and trees heavy with fruit, the sandpits always fine and cleansing for his fur. When the homesickness threatens his resolve, he forces himself to remember what happened to his burrow-mates, and their humans, and how they were stolen. And he thinks,never will it happen to me!Or; a wild thing meets a space hunter.





	the simple art of capture

**Author's Note:**

> Some kind of odd ambiguous AU through Brawl's Subspace Emissary mode, and hints of Sm4sh. Going off the idea that 64 and Melee didn't necessarily happen.

In his world they are captured. 

The burrow-mother teaches them first and foremost to be cautious, to be careful. A scrap of red and white cloth is kept by the clan's sandpit. It is old, and tattered, but it still carries the stink of human pup-scent. This, burrow-mother tells them, this is the danger. This is what you should avoid. Humans will beat you and take you and trick you into loving them more than your clan. 

He is young when he thinks,  _never will this happen to me_. He is wild and will always be wild. His burrow-mates agree. But they still wander. And he sees it, the human pups and their shining red-white orbs. He sees water-spitters and fire-tails come from them, sees the bugs and the rats and the birds attacked and beaten and captured. And, yes, his burrow-mates too. He is smart; he hides and keeps close to the sun-dappled shade that matches his fur. 

He is never caught even as the clan is thinned to nothing. He is never caught as he hides within the trees and sees the human pups return with his burrow-mates riding on arm and head and shoulders, sees the dull tame-glaze in their eyes as they coo and nuzzle their human pups like kin.  _Mine mine_ , say his burrow-mates, turned strangers with the way they talk. Fear and sorrow static through his fur, but he does not run to them, or challenge the human pups, because he knows better. He knows that he cannot win against the ones that come in, or the ones that return. 

So he runs from his forest and his land. And he hides, fights when he needs to. He keeps the memories of his kin in his mind and his heart and aches for his burrow back where his home once was, the sun warmed rocks and trees heavy with fruit, the sandpits always fine and cleansing for his fur. When the homesickness threatens his resolve, he forces himself to remember what happened to his burrow-mates, and their humans, and how they were stolen. And he thinks,  _never will it happen to me!_

Until it does. Shadow and cold metal stench incapacitate and steal him away before he knows what to do. When he wakes he is in a tube of glass in a dark, dark room. He builds the lightning in his body and lets it out. It is a mistake. The lightning turns on him, snap-crackle-steals into his body and starts to pull, and drain. The pain is great. It is merciless. He is caught and taken--by humans? Perhaps. He did not scent them. Is this what it is like in the white-red balls? Is this how his burrow-mates were broken so easily?

The lightning returns and drains him again until he is a panting and shaking bundle at a corner of his prison, tail curled over his nose like a pup. He rests but does not sleep. This must be what the white-red balls are like. You are shredded into bits before the humans can use you, and they build you up in their own image to make you docile and obedient. He has seen it happen with cruelty, and he has seen it happen with love, yes, but this. This. This is horrific. 

He is not sure how much time passes before the lightning returns. Dimly he sees a light and then it fades. Through the glass he sees something blue, blurry, distorted; humanlike. What is it doing in the ball? If this is the ball at all. The lightning--he wails and thrashes, and then--the glass shatters and breaks and the lightning stops. When he picks himself up to the distant din and red flashing of alarms, he realizes that he was not captured by a human, but saved by one. A female. Tall, with broad shoulders and muscle. There is a tool in her hand. 

She does not look at him greedily. She does not look at him like a prize to be one. She does not even look at him like a human looks at creatures such as him, with hunger for power and a glutton for rarities. She looks at him like his burrow-mother once did, a one-two sweep of concern and fierceness. Her eyes are draw back to the doors as they open, revealing machines with thick claws and dull lenses for eyes. He picks himself up on his paws and feels instinct rush through him as he jumps to her side, back arched, his own lightning sparking again through his fur. She freed him, will fight with him, and he will fight with her. And when the battle is over he follows her as she takes off through the cold halls of their prison, footsteps sure. 

She is silent, for a human. She exhales her pains and grunts occasionally with effort, snorts in quiet amusement when their enemies fling themselves to their own doom with ill-aimed strikes, but she does not speak to him. He does not mind it. He likes it, a little. She does not order him to fight for her, calling out commands for his lightning or his claws or for him to fling himself at his opponent. She trusts that he will look after himself and, perhaps, watch her back. Equals. He has only rarely seen this from a human to one such as him, and it was from old ones with grey in their hair and deep wrinkles in their skin, their partners equally old and weathered. More than a brief encounter than this strange partnership in a cold ground facility. 

This puzzles him, even as their adventure together continues. How quickly she is to act in his defense. How she could have forsaken him to keep her mission quiet, how much easier it could have been to take back her armor. And yet, how little she asks in return. She saved his life for no other reason than because she saw him in pain, and reacted. She continues to look after him when she can. She throws herself in between attacks and his body when he tires, taking blows.

They recover in silence together, tending to burns and bruises and cuts. Huddled together in a dark corner. Sometimes her hand will land on his head, idly stroking behind his ears. He curls up by her hip and lets sparks dance in his pelt, wishing faintly that he was of the fire and not the thunder, if only to help warm the both of them up.

These moments of kindness astounds him and now he wonders; was he wrong before? Yes, he knows, that sometimes his burrow-mates were stolen from the forest. Beaten into submission and captured. But perhaps some chose their humans of their own free will. Perhaps more than one human pup had risked their lives for his kin, and won their trust and friendship. And that brings him more than his share of peace, peace he did not even know he missed--not until he had been put in the glass and had his lightning stolen from him so brutally. Not until a human showed him that same kindness.

When they find her armor and retrieve it, she shines. She is a warrior in shining metal, her movements heavier but more fluid; less cautious, more confident. This is the human in her stride and he looks up at her in awe. Sees himself reflected in the green glass of her visor, but sees the shadows of her eyes as she marches forward; he keeps pace with short hops. An instinct he can't name compels him to; he thinks of his burrow-mate perched on the shoulder of that human pup, nuzzling and proclaiming to the forest that the pup was claimed. He wonders if this is what it felt like, to  _want_  to look after a human. Even if the female is more than grown, and has her own weapons, he almost cannot shake the instinct to brush against her metal calves, to show her affection. 

It is alien. And strange. And frightening, to think that he could love a human as a burrow-mate, or burrow-mother. And he thinks,  _it will not happen to me_. 

He must stop thinking that. Because the female is captured by some great, purple beast and  _brutalized_ , even in her metal armor. He knows that it will not withstand much more abuse, not by such a giant thing. The instinct runs down his spine, starts from the tips of his ears and courses through to his tail as fury is sparked within him. There is an enemy hurting the female, his human,  _his friend_ , and he leaps into the air and calls down his storm. The shock is enough to down the great purple beast and his female drops along with it, landing. Her armor sparks and twitches and though he knows he is outmatched, he has never felt stronger in his life. He arches his back and spits at the beast as it recovers, standing between his human and their enemy as he shudders with the force of his own rage. 

_How dare you!_  he thinks, cheeks sparking,  _how dare you hurt her!_  

Of course they defeat the beast together. His human recovers fast and hits harder than before, shooting with missiles and beams of energy. She flips and turns and corkscrews into the air. When the beast tries to hit him with the sharp edge of a tail she leaps at him and curls her metal body around him, taking him out of the path of destruction. The final blow comes from the both of them in succession; her bullets and his thunder bring the beast down, and they exit the facility to warm outside air and sunshine. It's almost peaceful, or at least peaceful enough for his human to take a seat and remove her helmet. 

She looks at him. Her eyes are frantic for a moment, scanning over him for injuries; he does not hesitate to leap onto the overly-rounded shoulders of her armor to sniff at her head, ears flicking back and forth. There is a moment of silence, and his human speaks, her words rough and whisper thin from obvious disuse; "Thanks," she says. He chirps in response. She replaces her helmet, they face the next challenge, and set off together. 

In time, he learns, her name is Samus. She is a hunter and lonely. She cannot speak for very long, and her words are clumsy and voice ragged. She hates the sound of it. More often than not she talks with her hands if she has to, or remains utterly silent. When the final battle against the Subspace man is done, she stays only long enough to enjoy a sunset and a cobbled together feast and party thrown against a scarred sky. She does not eat or drink from the table, aside from water, but mingles enough to keep from things being awkward. He remains perched on her shoulder, a sentinel; more than once he's arched his back and yipped a warning when someone has gotten too close to her without permission. Despite being in that armor, he can scent her anxiety ramping up when males get close, and he finds a severe lack of tolerance in letting any other unclaimed beings from his own world near her. 

The other females, though, they are allowed. The human-like female in purple and ivory finery speaks out loud and with her hands at the same time, the movements of her wrists fluid and graceful. She smells like old, crumbling paper, crushed flowers. "I don't believe we've been properly introduced yet. I am Zelda, Queen of Hyrule, and this is my good friend Peach Toadstool of the Mushroom Kingdom."

He turns his head just as Samus does, and they meet gazes. Her visor isn't easy to see through, but this close he can see the incredulous cant of her brow at the name. He flicks his ears and starts to wash his paws and cheeks; humans have had weirder names for their territories and will continue to do so, of this he is certain. 'Peach' is already giggling and taking no offense to their clear, if silent, confusion. Samus's hands move after a moment, pointing at him as well. 

"It's nice to meet you, Samus," Peach says around her mirth, "And Pikachu, was it?"

He confirms it with a chirp and continues his grooming to his hind legs. Some of his fur is scorched and matted from his time in capture.

"Is it true what the Captain says?" Zelda begins softly. "You all fought a dragon?"

Samus goes very still and he feels a shudder, so small it goes unnoticed by the other females. He pauses in his grooming and aims his best glare at the both of them, already feeling his cheeks warm with electricity. But she relaxes soon after, and nods. Then holds up a hand and corrects the assumption. 

"You fought him  _twice_?" Peach gasps. "My! You two must be starving! Come, have a seat--you and your champion," she winks to him, "can keep the boys away, right? My Mario's a little overprotective since the whole kidnapping thing happened, and his hovering will be the death of me!"

"And Link means well," Zelda adds, pressing a hand to her cheek, "but if he offers to cut my meat for me one more time, I just might scream. Join us for a meal, Samus? Pikachu?"

Samus looks to him and asks with a tilt of her head what he wants. He looks back, and then pats the top of her helmet a little. Together they follow the females to the long table set up by magic and mystery and she removes her helmet. He catches the slight widening of Zelda's eyes, and a dusting of pink at her cheeks; Peach does not crowd Samus, sitting across and asks with genuine curiosity what her job entails. The conversation is light, and though he and Samus eat meat and bread in silence broken by hand gestures.

The sun sets eventually, though. The cavalcade of warriors begin to drift apart to return to their own worlds. Samus is no different. She replaces her helmet after bidding the other females a good night. Then she kneels down to him. Gives him a gentle pat on the head, her eyes soft and kind behind the glass, communicating her thanks without a word. She boards her ship and she is gone. And he stares at the stars, knowing that she had every chance to take him and keep him and capture him, and she did not. 

He thinks about that for a very long time.

He wanders around the world. He watches humans with new eyes, seeing the way they fight together with their partners. How their partners protect them, how the humans tend to the injuries and brush out coats and feed them treats. Sometimes they play games; he never interferes. He will not be captured, but not because he is a wild and untouchable thing. He feels the opposite. He remembers his human female and how she protected him, and he thinks that he wouldn't mind traveling with her and her cold armor, fighting side by side. He is a missing piece to this two-fold puzzle, and seeing the closeness of humans and their fighting partners makes him envious.

He wishes he had followed her onto the ship. He thinks that she would have let him. 

He does not know how long he wanders, until eventually, he comes across the crossroads once more and sees some of those who fought in the Subspace, and some new faces. The fire-tail is alone this time. He wonders what happened to the human and nearly asks the fire-tail when he catches her scent. 

He whirls around. She is climbing out of her ship, out of her armor; she looks flustered when Zelda and Peach approach her from the gathering crowds. He does not hesitate as he lets out a shrill cry, a unique call that forms her name out of a mishmash of his own. His human looks up in alarm.

He is running towards her on all fours. When he leaps in the air she drops the canvas bag she'd been carrying, arms open to catch him. He lands against the hard bone of her sternum, feels one arm support his back paws and the other pressing a hand against his back. He digs his claws into the soft white fabric of her shirt and nuzzles frantically against her neck. She smells odd; his nose is not so sensitive to get the entire story of what has happened to her since the Subspace, but he knows she has been hurt, changed in some way. When he looks at her face, he sees the differences; there is a terrible scar from the corner of one of her eyes, spreading like a web against her cheek and the bridge of her nose, like fire had rolled through the veins and left them scorched forever. Her eyes are brighter, a lighter shade of blue; the pupils are more vertically oval than a human's should be, and shine strangely when the light hits at an angle.

But she is still his human where it counts. Samus smiles down at him after a moment, tired and sad and glad all at once. Her hand strokes over him from head to the base of his tail, scratching behind his ears the way he likes. "Hey, buddy," she rasps under her breath. 

He climbs up to a broad shoulder, wriggling until he's able to secure the perfect perch.  _Mine_ , he shouts to anything and anyone that can hear him and understand him.  _Mine mine mine!_


End file.
